Nothing Is True and Everything Is Possible: The Surreal Heart of the New Russia by Peter Pomerantsev

Peter Pomerantsev’s Nothing is True and Everything is Possible is not just a book about Russia—it’s a mirror held up to the fractured, surreal nature of modern societies where truth is malleable, reality is performative, and power is wielded through spectacle. Reading it feels like stepping into a funhouse where the walls are made of smoke and the floor is constantly shifting beneath your feet. Peter Pomerantsev, a British journalist of Russian descent, moved to Moscow in the early 2000s to work as a producer for Russian television. His experience in the world of state-controlled media gave him a front-row seat to the surreal and often unsettling mechanisms of power in modern Russia. In Nothing is True and Everything is Possible, he takes us deep into the heart of a society “where nothing is true and everything is possible,” and the line between fact and fiction has been erased.

But this isn’t just a story about Russia. As I turned the pages, I couldn’t help but see unsettling parallels to the current trajectory of the United States—a country increasingly defined by its own divisions, its own spectacles, and its own struggles with truth and reality.

The Illusion of Reality

At the core of Pomerantsev’s book is the idea that reality itself is a construct, carefully curated and manipulated by those in power. In Russia, this manipulation is orchestrated through television, which the Kremlin uses to shape public consciousness. Pomerantsev recounts a conversation with a famous Russian TV presenter who casually explains, “We all know there will be no real politics. But we still have to give our viewers the sense something is happening. They need to be kept entertained. So what should we play with? Shall we attack oligarchs? Who’s the enemy this week? Politics has got to feel like… like a movie!”

This is not just entertainment—it’s control. The Kremlin decides which politicians are allowed as puppet opposition, what the country’s history should be, and even how people should feel. The goal is simple: keep the population entertained, distracted, and compliant.

Gold Diggers and Gangsters

Pomerantsev’s Russia is a place where wealth and power are the only currencies that matter, and where the absurd becomes mundane. He takes us into the world of Moscow’s “Gold Digger Academies,” which are Universities where young women are trained to attract wealthy men. “On a first date, there’s one key rule: never talk about yourself,” one instructor advises. “Listen to him. Find him fascinating. Find out his desires. Study his hobbies; then change yourself accordingly.”

These academies are just one part of a larger ecosystem where wealth and power are the only currencies that matter. Pomerantsev introduces us to Oliana, a 22-year-old who is already nearing the end of her career as a Moscow mistress. She navigates a world of exclusive clubs, where “Forbeses” (rich men) sit in darkened loggias, while girls like Oliana dance below, hoping to be invited up. But this world is not without its dangers. Oliana casually recounts being kidnapped and raped by her gangster boyfriend, brushing it off with, “Listen. It’s normal. Happens to all the girls. No biggie.”

The absurdity extends to everyday life. Pomerantsev describes his attempt to pass a driving test, only to be told by his instructor that he will never pass unless he pays a bribe. During the test, he stalls the car repeatedly. The traffic cop smiles, takes control of the ignition, and tells him, “Put your hands on the wheel and pretend to drive.” It’s a perfect metaphor for life in Russia: everyone is pretending, and the system is rigged to keep them that way.

The Kremlin’s Reality Show

At the heart of Pomerantsev’s narrative is the figure of Vladislav Surkov, the Kremlin’s chief political technologist. Political technologists are the architects of Russia’s “managed democracy.” They are the modern-day viziers, the grey cardinals who operate behind the scenes to shape public perception and maintain the illusion of democracy. Surkov is a master of this craft.

Surkov claps once, and a new political party appears. He claps again, and creates Nashi, a youth group trained for street battles with pro-democracy supporters. He meets weekly with TV executives, instructing them on whom to attack, whom to defend, and how the President should be presented.

But Surkov is more than just a political operator—he’s an aesthete who pens essays on modern art, writes lyrics for rock bands, and keeps a photo of Tupac on his desk. His genius lies in tearing apart the associations between democracy, free markets, and culture, and reassembling them into something entirely new: a system where authoritarianism is wrapped in the language of rights and representation.

Surkov’s Russia is a place where opposition parties, human rights NGOs, and even nationalist movements are all orchestrated by the state. The Kremlin’s goal is to own all forms of political discourse, to ensure that no independent movements develop outside its walls. It’s a system where Moscow can feel like an oligarchy in the morning, a democracy in the afternoon, a monarchy for dinner, and a totalitarian state by bedtime.

The Legal System

Pomerantsev delves into the Kafkaesque nature of Russia’s legal system, where justice is a commodity and the law is a tool for manipulation. He describes the practice of “reiding,” a common form of corporate takeover in Russia. Business rivals or bureaucrats pay the security services to have the head of a company arrested; while they are in prison, their documents and registrations are seized, the company is re-registered under different owners, and by the time the original owners are released, the company has been bought and sold and split up by new owners.

The usual way out is a bribe. There is a whole network and industry of payoffs. Good “lawyers” are not those who can defend you in court—the verdicts are predetermined—but those who have the right connections to know whom to pay off in the judiciary and relevant ministry. It’s a complex game; pay off the wrong person and you just wasted money.

Pomerantsev also highlights the plight of small businessmen, all facing trumped-up charges, all with the same look of pure confusion, like they are being sucked into a whirlpool and into an underwater world where nothing at all makes sense.

The Military and the Draft: A System of Fear and Bribes

Military service is mandatory for healthy males between eighteen and twenty-seven, but anyone who can avoids it. The most common way is a medical certificate. Some play mad, spending a month at a psychiatric clinic. The doctors, of course, know they are pretending, and the bribe to stay a month in a loony bin will set you back thousands of dollars. You will never be forced to join the force again—mad people aren’t trusted with guns—but you will also have a certificate of mental illness for the rest of your life.

If you’re at a university, you avoid military service until you graduate. There is no greater stimulus for seeking a higher education, and Russian males take on endless master’s degree programs until their late twenties. If you are not smart enough to get into university programs, you must bribe your way into an institution; there are dozens of new universities that have opened in part to service the need to avoid the draft.

For the poorest, it’s a game of hide and seek. The soldiers will grab anyone who looks the right age and demand his documents and letters of exemption, and if he doesn’t have them, march him off to the local recruitment center.

This is the genius of the system: even if you manage to avoid the draft, you, your mother, and your family become part of the network of bribes and fears and stimulations; you learn to become an actor playing out his different roles in his relationship with the state, knowing already that the state is the great colonizer you fear and want to avoid or cheat or buy off. Already you are semilegal, a transgressor. And that’s fine for the system: as long as you’re a stimulator you will never do anything real, you will always look for your compromise with the state, which in turn makes you feel just the right amount of discomfort. Whichever way, you’re hooked.

The Rose of the World: Cults and the Search for Meaning

Pomerantsev also explores the rise of cults in Russia, such as the Rose of the World, which describes itself as offering “trainings for personality development.” Its website promises to teach you how to “find your true self, realize your goals, and achieve material wealth,” accompanied by photographs of happy, shiny people standing on the top of a hill, shot from the bottom up, their arms out embracing a strong wind so it looks like they’re almost flying.

The commandments of the training are strict: “I will not tell anyone what goes on here. I will not make any recordings. I will not be late. I will not drink alcohol for the duration of the training.”

Many models get caught in this cult. For the first time, the models had a place where someone would listen to them. They felt for the first time that they could be themselves. No one even knew they were models here. In these trainings, the trainers make you believe that all wrongdoings were your fault. You won’t be a victim. You’ll take responsibility.

“Sometimes it’s better to commit suicide than not to change,” one trainer says. “And the fact you’re feeling so sorry for this girl means you’re a victim too. It was her choice to do it.”

Parallels to the U.S.

Reading Nothing is True and Everything is Possible, it’s hard not to see parallels to the current trajectory of the United States. While the U.S. is not (yet) a managed democracy, it is a country increasingly defined by its divisions, its spectacles, and its struggles with truth and reality.

In Russia, the Kremlin uses television to shape public consciousness. In the U.S., social media algorithms and partisan news outlets serve a similar function, creating echo chambers where reality feels increasingly subjective. The rise of misinformation and the erosion of trust in traditional media are symptoms of a broader crisis of truth—one that is not unique to Russia.

In Russia, the absurd becomes mundane. In the U.S., there are plenty of absurdities: politicians who rise to power through reality TV, conspiracy theories that gain mainstream traction, and a culture where performance often trumps substance. The 24/7 news cycle, with its focus on sensationalism and outrage, mirrors the Kremlin’s strategy of keeping the population entertained and distracted.

And in both countries, the erosion of trust in institutions—whether it’s the media, the government, or the judiciary—has created a sense of disorientation, where nothing feels certain and everything feels possible. As Pomerantsev writes, “Because if nothing is true and all motives are corrupt and no one is to be trusted, doesn’t it mean that some dark hand must be behind everything?” This sentiment resonates deeply in a world where conspiracy theories thrive and trust in institutions continues to erode.

Nothing is True and Everything is Possible is a book that will challenge your assumptions and leave you questioning the world around you. Pomerantsev’s Russia is a place where reality is a performance, power is a spectacle, and truth is whatever those in control say it is.

But this is not just a book about Russia. It’s a cautionary tale for all of us, a reminder of what happens when truth becomes subjective, when institutions lose their credibility, and when reality itself becomes a commodity.